Tixie Belden and the Mystery Left Behind
by DixieCup
Summary: It's been a decade since a Sleepyside resident was murdered and the Bob-Whites scattered across the globe. The anniversary of a decade old cold case brings the Bob-Whites back for one last mystery. Some mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**_When witches go riding and black cats are seen, _**

**_The moon laughs and whispers _**

**_'tis near Halloween._**

**_ Airport, Thursday morning_**

Even a decade later, twenty-five year old Trixie Belden's throat was still raw from the screams. That long ago Halloween night when true pain and fear had wracked the quiet confidence of her small town of Sleepyside-on-Hudson, NY and had never truly left.

She'd broken up counterfeiting rings, found lost jewels, been kidnapped, and almost drowned but nothing in her adventures as a teen prepared her for the tiny lifeless body of six year old Emma Ray Kettner. In one fell swoop, her world in Sleepyside was destroyed.

The Kettner family would never be the same. Fearing for their children, the Wheelers took Jim and Honey out of school and left the country.

The Lynches moved to the west coast. Three years ago, the family began starring in a reality show called Lunching with Lynches. LWL chronicled the ongoing chaos of their fabulously wealthy lives.

Dan had become withdrawn and terse and right after graduation from High School had moved to parts unknown. Or, if they were known, no one had told her.

Her own family fared little better. At the urging of Honey, she had gone to Molinson. But somehow her reputation, fed by her own bravado, had grown beyond the reality of her abilities. She'd become shunned at school. Without the benefit of her best friends, she'd been cut off. Alone. Adrift. Depressed. She'd finally allowed Moms and Dad to call Hallie's parents and ask to send her to live with family until she graduated high school.

Mart endured his last year at Sleepyside Junior Senior High School in stoic silence. The weekend after his 18th birthday, he joined the Navy. He served as a Master Chief Culinary Specialist on the USS Enterprise until its retirement and was now serving on the USS Gerald R. Ford.

Brian, already in college when the body was found, was the least scathed. He, too, had joined the Navy and always off doing things he couldn't or wouldn't talk about.

"Trix! Over here!" Came the voice of her now 18 year old "baby" brother, Bobby.

It was time to solve the crime. Past time.

_**Sleepyside-on-Hudson, Thursday morning**_

The pink monkey with the buttoned eyes mocked her from the hood of her car. Ruthie Kettner picked up the ugly toy with it's Made in some Third World Stink Hole sticker fingered one of the eyes. Choking hazard, she thought.

Who the Hell did Trixie Belden think she was? Ruthie thought, her eyes narrowed with anger. Gifts on the anniversary of the death of her baby sister?

She gripped the toy hard enough to rip out some of the cheaply fused stitches. A decade of ugly ass toys was too much! This had to stop!

She pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number she knew by heart but refused to enter into her phone's memory as a contact.

It went straight to the answering service. "Helen," Ruthie began. "I got another one. One of these horrid toys that only serve…" Her voice caught but she took a deep breath and continued. "You need to make your daughter stop." She hoped her voice dripped with enough anger and disdain that it would finally convince the Beldens of Glen Road leave her and her family alone.

_**Las Vegas, Thursday morning**_

"I got a call from Bob. Trixie's coming home," Mart said, wrapping a silken cool ebony curl around his finger. Their nude bodies entwined in the artificial coolness of an impersonal Las Vegas hotel room. Diana's liquid, relaxed body stiffened in his arms before she turned to face him.

"What brought that on?"

"I don't know exactly. I'm honestly surprised it took her this long to come back. You know what she's like when she was a teenager."

"I do," Di said, her eyes clouding with memory. Trixie had been a force to be reckoned with. A beacon that shown and pulled all the Bob-Whites into her orbit. Without her, they merely drifted and bumped into each other like the planetary bodies of a 4th grade science fair project.

"According to Hallie, she stayed focused on the Kettner case. After graduation, she studied everything she could find. Criminal psychology. Crime scene investigation. Pharmacology. Herbs. I don't know all what. Whatever she could find in the library, I guess. Maybe she figured out enough, healed enough." Mart sighed. "She was like a zombie after they found the body," he said. He shuddered, refusing to think about the other. The bruises. The hospital.

The leaving.

"Weren't we all?" Di asked, wrapping the sheet tightly around her chest.

"I've missed her," Mart said. Born too close together and too much alike, their tempers had often clashed as teenager, but it was rarely serious. Whenever push had met shove, no matter the time or location, they'd had each other's back.

"If she solves this case, will you go home?"

Mart lifted and dropped one bare shoulder. "I don't know. Where is home anymore?"

A furrow appeared between her brows. "Home is where we are, together," she chided, softly.

"Is it?" Mart asked. He rolled onto his back and tucked her tightly next to him. "We're together in a suite here in Vegas, but this isn't home. You visit me in Norfolk and that doesn't feel like home, either." He looked at her, china blue eyes meeting exquisite lavender eyes. "I see you on TV and that looks like home." He knew his heart and insecurity was reflected in his eyes and still chose to reveal it to her.

Diana's small nose wrinkled. "I hate that stupid TV show. I have no idea why Mummy and Daddy wanted to do a show called 'Lunching with Lynches'. It's edited to make the five of us siblings look like uneducated, vapid creatures living off of Daddy's business acumen, alone."

"I can't believe how grown up the girls have gotten," Mart said, closing his eyes. He knew the show was "creatively" edited but jealousy ate at his gut every time he saw Diana on TV with some new "boyfriend du jour".

"They are. Rachel Zoe wants to use Tia and Talia for her upcoming fashion show," she said, lazily playing in Mart's chest curls.

That sounded important but he didn't know why.

"Larry and Terry aren't on the show much these days," he commented.

"College keeps them busy. They want to move to London after graduation. Somewhere out of the limelight."

"Smart boys."

"You have no idea. The constant scrutiny is insane. There is one fame-hungry producer who is suggesting a sex tape of me get 'leaked' to the internet. I've had to turn off all entertainment related news. Every time I eat a full meal, there's chronic 'baby bump watch'." She closed her eyes, thinking of the downside of all the fame her family had. "I hate it. I wish I was thirteen again."

"Don't we all?" Mart said. Then, as something Diana said sunk in, his eyes widened. "We've never filmed our sex," Mart said, his chin set mulishly.

Her lips quirked with humor. "I think they're hoping I've been with someone who did film us."

"Did you tell them you haven't? Ever?"

Di propped herself up on one elbow to look Mart in the eye. "My sex life is no one's damn business but mine and yours. You are not going to get crazy jealous over this. You are going to trust me as I trust you. You are who I need to escape this crazy life I'm contractually tied to." Di's gaze was steady and unwavering and Mart nodded before brushing a small kiss against her forehead. "You are the one I need, no matter what."

"I love you, baby. You can have any man in the world."

"I love you, too. And yes, I can. Which is why I chose you. Do you hear me, Mart Belden? I chose you. When the fame is gone, the money is spent, and the beauty fades, our love will still burn."

"I don't deserve you."

"Of course you do, now hush." She rearranged her body, seeking the comfort and heat of his.

Mart closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her small body next to his. The soft texture of her hair as she snuggled into his chest.

"Are you still planning on quitting the show?"

Diana waved one hand airily. "We're in negotiations right now. Mummy is leaning on me to sign the contract, but if Trixie is back in Sleepyside, that's where I belong."

Mart nodded and rolled her under him. "This, Diana Belden, is where you belong," he said, kissing her.

_** Brooklyn, NY, Thursday afternoon**_

The brown haired young man with brilliant emerald green eyes sat in the corner booth of Tony's pizza waiting for his sister. He tensed as the door opened and closed, letting in hungry patrons and cool gusts of fall air.

Ten years later and he still couldn't sit with his back to the door. Waking and finding Trixie had been the culmination of every fear he'd had over countless adventures. How had he let anyone sneak up on them?

The limo pulled up to the curb, incongruous to the quiet family neighborhood. His generous mouth twisted with a smirk. The Wheelers traveled, as they say, in rarified air.

Some Wheelers, he thought, as the weak afternoon sun dappled through fingerprint painted windows. Absently, he wondered when the last time they'd been scrubbed clean.

Anything to ignore the question that maybe his own more modest means meant he was no longer a Wheeler. A spot near his chest ached with the need for a family to call his own.

"I'll never get used to seeing you in brown hair," his sister said as she approached. "At least you didn't wear those horrid brown contacts." The exquisite cut of her white wool Olcay Gülşen dress was remarkably out of place in the well-worn cleanliness of the Brooklyn restaurant. A cashmere scarf kept the fall chill away, and her Christian Louboutin's echoed on the worn tiled floor.

Jim shrugged. They'd had this discussion before. "Red hair stands out too much," he said. "When I come down here, I prefer to blend. I'm not crazy about the contacts myself but I figured I should be neutral enough for a quick trip for some of Tony's pizza."

Madeline sat down and primly began cleaning the silverware. "Did you order?"

Jim nodded. "Pizza should be here in a few minutes."

She sighed and looked at him, her wide hazel eyes beseeching. "I miss you. Why did you leave Daddy's company?"

"I miss you," Jim responded. "I miss my sister 'Honey'."

"I'm still here. No one would trust a corporate lawyer named Honey, even if her last name was Wheeler." Hazel eyes calmly met his. "Your turn."

"I didn't belong," Jim answered simply. Honestly. "Dad left Sleepyside to give us freedom from media speculation. The paps chased us everywhere we went. London. Madrid. Rio. All he did was exchange one prison for another."

"Being the youngest VP of Acquisitions was a prison?"

"Now you sound like Dad! Look at me, Honey!" Madeline did, taking in his snow white T-shirt and thick flannel shirt. "Do I look like a VP of Acquisitions? No! Wearing a suit every day, wearing dress shoes and carrying a briefcase and sitting in an office all day? That was prison to me. I chose to go my own way."

"By buying your parent's old farm in Rochester?"

"I'm free there. I grow my own food. A few rescued horses and cats. I have goats, rabbits, and chickens. I earn enough money freelancing magazine articles."

Madeline reached across the table and pulled on the silver chain to reveal the small pendent tucked under his shirt. "Still?" she asked, revealing the small class ring with the bright green stone.

"Always," Jim answered, looking steadily into her eyes.

"But are you happy?"

Images of china blue eyes and sandy curls played across his mind like a vivid dream. Happy? No. But he was content. And free.

It was enough. "I'm not unhappy," he finally said.

Madeline bit her lip and checked the time on her Cartier watch. "I don't have much time," she said.

"I drove all the way from Rochester to see you and you can't find a few hours for lunch?" Jim demanded, his brow creasing. He felt his neck getting hot as his temper rose. When had his little sister, Honey Wheeler, become this uptight snobbish young woman with artfully highlighted hair and no time for family?

Madeline shook her head. "No, you don't understand. I got a text from Di on the way over here."

"Is everything okay?" Jim asked.

"It's Trixie. She's home."


	2. Chapter 2

Dan tilted his chair back on its rear legs and stared as Brian downed his third boilermaker. "Take it easy with those things, man."

"I'm a sailor," Brian slurred. "We drink."

"We're SEALs," Dan corrected. "Now, suck it up, Belden and pull it the Hell together. It's time to drop a chit to our command for leave. It's time to go home."

"Where the Hell is home anymore?" Brian demanded.

"Where it's always been," Dan said, black eyes narrowed at the bartender. He dutifully backed up and poured two cups of coffee.

"At this point," Brian said, blinking slowly at the steaming cup of black coffee on the bar, "Afghanistan is more home than Norfolk." He lifted his drink in mock salute. "To the Sandbox."

"Sleepyside," Dan corrected. "Sleepyside is our home. I just got a text from Mart. Trixie is home."

Trixie turned the alarm clock off five minutes before it was set to go off. She threw back her covers and with tired determination, slipped on a sports bra and yoga pants. The class ring she wore on a chain was cold against her neck so she wrapped her fist around it, imbuing it with her body heat. She closed her eyes, hearing her therapist's voice suggesting she take it off.

To face the reality that she and Jim were no longer high school sweethearts. They no longer went steady. She had to heal that wound and move on.

But not today.

She threw on an oversized orange and black sweatshirt she found under her bed to protect against the snap of cold autumn air.

Dawn was rising across the Manor House as Trixie left Crabapple Farm with her yoga mat tucked under one arm. She wiped the tears from her eyes as memories assaulted her.

Finding Jim. Teaching Honey to ride a bike. Vacations to Cobbett's Island. The silver bracelet she cherished after all these years. Solving crimes, catching criminals and her own blind cockiness.

Unbidden came the darker memories. The Kettner family accusing her of not trying. Being too caught up in her own reputation and not caring about their missing baby.

Finding the body of the little girl, desperately performing CPR while Jim counted and Honey called 9-1-1.

Then the fall out. The Wheelers leaving. The Lynches moving. The isolation. The depression.

The hospital.

The leaving.

She sighed and pushed away the memories. Locked them up, deep inside and

Slowly, breathing deep, she cleared her mind and began the hour long sun salutations Hallie drilled into her head over the last decade. She lost all sense of the world around her and simply concentrated on her body. On her breathing.

Be present in the moment.

The late autumn sun was bright in the sky as she finished up in resting pose. Sweat cooled on her skin and she spread her senses out, listening to the morning birds sing their song. The gentle hum of bees cross-pollinating the crabapple trees danced in the air.

Her brow furrowed as her "Jim senses" tingled in a way they hadn't in almost ten years.

"Did you bring coffee?" she asked, her eyes still closed, hoping she was wrong. But praying still harder she was right.

"Looks more like you're a green tea drinker these days," Jim said after a beat of silence.

Trixie rolled her eyes and sat up, cross-legged on her mat. "Just hand over the caffeine and no one will get hurt." Her mouth opened with shock at the sight of Jim with brown hair. What was that all about? That insatiable minx Curiosity tickled her consciousness.

Her mouth opened as she longed to tell Jim a decade of stories and secrets. Of dreams and wishes and wants, only barely able to hold back. She wasn't his special girl anymore. They weren't teenagers anymore. They weren't even best friends anymore. Who was this brown haired stranger with Jim's voice and eyes? Could she even trust this Jim?

She took a sip of the hot beverage, closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. "I didn't think word would get around so fast," Trixie said, opening her eyes. How would she ever get used to a brunette Jim?

She handed the cup back to Jim, rolled up her yoga mat and led the way into the kitchen.

"Some things don't change," Jim said. "Telephone. Tell a Bobby."

"It's just Bob now," Trixie corrected him with a tentative grin. He responded with one of those lopsided grins that haunted her memory. Love and longing tugged at her heart.

It wasn't fair what the shadow of his signature smile could do to her heart.

"Where are your folks?" Jim asked as they took seats in the welcoming kitchen, sunlight gleaming off polished brass pots hanging from the walls.

"They always go on vacation this time of year. That's why I knew it would be safe to come home. Just Bob and me."

"Except Just Bob told Mart. Mart told Di and Dan. Di told Honey. Honey told me. Dan told Brian."

Go away, Curiosity, Trixie thought with a grimace. She didn't want to know why Mart and Di still talked. Or why Di and Honey still talked. Or Dan and Brian. She seemed to be the only one they didn't need and the hurt of isolation pounded at her.

"Did you memorize all that?" she asked, a lighthearted comment in contrast to the sharp knife of pain spearing her soul.

Jim's laugh was a bit forced. "I drove up with Honey and our phones were ringing off the hook."

Trixie played absently with a stray curl, avoiding Jim's steady gaze. "Brown hair?"

"I was down in Brooklyn having lunch with Honey. I always color it when I hit any major city but especially New York. Red hair sticks out too much and the paps – sorry, paparazzi still like to chase me. I walked away from the life Mother and Dad wanted for me, but when the photographers find me, they still hound me."

"And ask questions?"

Jim nodded. "Some reporters have long memories."

"I don't know how long I'm staying," Trixie said, fear and bravery warring within her before bravery won. She met his gaze. "I'm solving this case, though. Finding whoever killed little Emma Ray. It's haunted me for too long."

"I know," Jim said. "I was there when you found her, too."

Trixie nodded as memories, long suppressed, came back. Jim's hands on her shoulders, pulling her back when the paramedics had finally arrived. Jim's shoulder, stained with her tears as she sobbed from the tragedy of it all. Honey's embrace as the three of them had held each other, mourning the loss of such a young life.

The emptiness and quiet of death that had echoed in the creek bed.

They stared at each other awkwardly for long moments before Trixie finally blurted out, "I missed you so badly. Did you even try to get in touch with me?"

Jim winced at the raw, unvarnished pain in her voice and eyes.

Madeline Wheeler lay in her childhood bedroom and stared at the ceiling. Thinking. She heard Jim leave an hour ago and smiled sadly at his impatience. Yes, she and Trixie had been BFFs but the invisible string between Jim and Trixie had the tensile strength of spider's silk. A gossamer thread that no amount of time could break or damage, but they needed privacy and time to work through the pain that lead to their separation.

At fifteen, she had systematically gotten forced "Honey" into a closet. With Miss Trask gone, Trixie no longer around to support her, she had gradually, piece by piece, taken on a new identity. Her haircuts had become more angled and precise. Her clothing had upgraded. Madeline emerged, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of her youth. Denim and cotton had given way to silks and fine wools. She moved back into the Wheeler circle of friends, her cousin Ben, and had maintained only her friendship with Diana.

But Jim had only had Trixie and losing her had destroyed parts of him, forever.

Her cell phone chirped with a text. "You awake?"

"Yes," she typed back. "Jim made coffee. Want to come over before we descend on CF?"

Diana's response was instantaneous. "Be right there."

Honey got out of bed and searched her closet, hoping to find some of her high school clothes that Miss Trask hadn't packed up and taken to Good Will. Suits and heels were fine for Manhattan but solving mysteries in Sleepyside required a more casual wardrobe.

Twenty minutes later, Diana knocked on the kitchen door to Manor House. The two women hugged and sat at the breakfast bar, pristine from lack of use.

"How did it all go so wrong?" Di asked.

Honey shrugged. "We didn't catch the bad guy in time."

"I thought Bob-Whites were forever."

"We were kids," Madeline said. "Dad took our cell phones and carted us out of the country." That was the excuse she gave whenever Jim asked.

A peevish look crossed Diana's usually smooth forehead. "Bullshit," she said. "You found me the minute we were both eighteen and we all knew where Trixie went. Coeur d'Alene isn't so big that if we wanted to find Trixie, we couldn't. So what happened?"

"Did you try to find her?" Madeline challenged, guilt flushing her cool demeanor.

"Of course!" Di snapped. "I thought you knew? I called the Farm but Mr. and Mrs. Belden wouldn't give me any information. Finally, I was able to track Mart down in Virginia on his Facebook page and through him, Hallie. But when I called out there, her aunt said Trixie was in treatment for her depression and anxiety. I left my number, but thought it best to let Trixie find me when she was ready."

Tears filled Madeline's expressive hazel eyes. "Finding Emma Ray's body was the hardest thing I've ever done. And then later, the Trixie and Jim were attacked and hospitalized. I guess I just shoved it all away. Wanted to forget it. I didn't want to remember and I guess I put all of my Sleepyside memories in a bank vault. Hidden away. Safe."

"But why was that case on you and Trix? Why didn't Molinson share the stigma? Or the state police? Why weren't the FBI called in?"

"There were no signs it was anything more than a missing child," Madeline said. "No reason to call in the Feds. And per the _Sun_, Molinson did get a lot of the blame. I suppose in a state the size of New York, one murder of one little girl wouldn't be enough to call for the superintendent to be fired."

Di shook her head. "It wasn't fair. Not any of it. Not the death of that little girl. Not our parents panicking and moving. Not the way the town turned on Trixie. Not the way the Bob-Whites were separated."

The two women were quiet as the morning birds chirped their greeting to the new day.

"Where is Jim?" Di asked. "I didn't think he'd sleep in knowing she was back in town."

Madeline smiled. "He went down to the Farm about an hour and a half ago. I was going to give them until 9 before I joined them."

Jim stared at her, shocked. "Look for you? I wrote you dozens of letters, all returned. Unopened. I finally learned from Dan that you were in Idaho with your Uncle Harold, but when I called out there, I was given the brush off. Dad pulled me out of Princeton, threatened to cut me off completely, and then proceeded to drag us around the world."

"So you were just a victim?" Trixie said, anger beginning to show in her voice.

"No," Jim said. "I was as much in shock as you were. You know that. I was a wreck! And after about five or six months of dodging reporters and being a virtual prisoner, I demanded parole. Dad dragged his feet but I was finally able to head back to Princeton and finish my degree. I was offered a VP position at Wheeler, International but I just…I don't know. I just couldn't do it. Couldn't make it work. So, as soon as my inheritance cleared and I got full control, I left it all behind.

"I hired a freaking private detective but he told me that after he contacted you, you asked to be left alone!" Jim stood, hurt and anger palpable energies pouring off of him in waves. "Don't tell me I didn't look, damn it, Trix!"

Trixie stood before him and touched her hand to his chest. Heat, warm and vital, greeted her. "I didn't know he was a PI," she said. "I thought he was a reporter. I was scared I had been found out."

That hadn't occurred to Jim. "I guess I just figured he had identified who he was."

Trixie nodded, "He did, but I didn't believe him."

"And you?" Jim challenged. "Did you ever try and contact me?"

Trixie nodded. "I didn't have a forwarding, but I sent letters to Manor House. My letters were returned, too." She felt a hard circle of a ring against the palm of her hand. She sought the source and lifted the chain so it rested against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. "You still wear my ring," she said, numbly. Disbelieving.

"Yeah, I do," Jim said, challenge rising in his vibrant green eyes. "We never broke up, did we?"

"No, we didn't." She tugged on the chain around her own neck, revealing Jim's much larger class ring from SHJSHS. "Me, too," she said softly.

Jim lifted her chin and leaned down. "Still?"

"Always," she said on a little puff of air.

Their lips met and communicated in a way no written language ever could. Years melted away and for just a moment, they were back in school, their whole lives spread before them like unwritten pages in a book.

He pulled back slightly to look at her. To ensure she was real. Very gently, he touched his forehead to hers.

"What are we going to do now, Trix?" he asked, eyes closed.

"Well, first we're going to solve Emma Ray's murder. Then, we're washing that hideous shade of brown out of your hair," she said with a wrinkled nose. "After that?" She brushed a kiss across his chin. "After that, we'll figure out who and what we are. Who we are now. What we want and where we'll go."

He smiled then and Trixie's heart pounded in her chest. That uneven, mildly imperfect smile held all the love and hope she held in her own heart. He brushed his nose against hers. "Deal," he whispered, before lowering his head for another taste of her soft lips.

"Lord, she's not even back in New York a day, and she's already found some asshole to kiss."

Trixie turned, startled. She never heard him come up behind her. Panic pulsed into her and reality panned out. Her vision narrowed until the kitchen disappeared and all that remained were the pulsing, swirling colors of her panic.

She backed up, away from the voice until she hit Jim's chest. Her breath caught as she was pulled into the flashback and fell to the floor. She reached for her weapon, forgetting for a moment she was wearing yoga pants. Finding nothing, no way to protect herself, she curled into a ball and made herself as small as possible.

"Trix?" Jim's voice was just barely stronger than a shadow within her mind and Trixie clung to reality.

No, it was a trick. It was always a trick. She was alone. Useless. Jim was down, a welt at his temple, blood beginning to pool. His face unnaturally pale in the moonlight. Caught between memories and nightmares, Trixie whimpered with blind fear. "Don't hurt me again," she whispered, begging him this time. Anything to make it stop.

To make him stop. She whimpered.

"Trix, it's me, baby. Jim. You're breaking my heart. Come back to us."

"Jim? Why the hell do you have brown hair?"

Jim spared an annoyed look at Trixie's brother. "Later," he said. He knelt down beside Trixie, cradling her in his arms. She began rocking, hitting her head, and Jim wrapped her fully in his arms until her tears slowly cleared up.

"Where am I?" she asked, eyes clenched tight. Was it real? Was she back in Sleepyside? The heartbeat against her ear felt solid and steady. His voice was deep and comforting, so like her memories. But memories had a way of turning into nightmares and she resisted the pull to trust.

"Baby? You're right here. Where you belong. In my arms," Jim said, his baritone echoing in his chest.

"You're real?" Trixie whispered tonelessly.

"I'm right here," Jim said. "You can open your eyes."

"What happened?"

She felt a change in the air as someone else moved in the kitchen. "Open your eyes, Trixie."

"Brian?" Shocked, she did just that, staring at her oldest brother. "Good grief, you're huge!" she blurted out. The hum of surrealism surrounded her and for a long moment it felt like she was caught in a Dali painting with a brunette Jim and her slim, thoughtful brother transformed into a muscle bound hardened man.

"Do you still have PTSD?" Brian asked, kneeling down and looking into her eyes. For a moment past and present melded and Brian was back in school, dreams spread out before him. "I would have thought the counseling would have helped. Moms and Dad told me Uncle Harold had been taking you."

Trixie's eyes narrowed. She hadn't had a flashback in months, thank you very much Doctor Belden, she thought. "They certainly aren't helped when men the size of a medium refrigerator sneak up behind me," she said.

"Only a medium sized one?" Brian asked, looking faintly hurt.

Trixie sighed and tightened her grip on Jim. "My bad," she said, bouncing back with a shadow of her usual grin. "The size of a king-sized refrigerator. Better?"

Brian nodded. "Much. And sorry. I should have known better. You better now?"

She brushed him off and squirmed out of Jim's arms. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced. "Jim, you need to go do something with your hair."

"It's like this for another week," Jim said to her retreating back.

"Brown hair?" Brian repeated.

"It's camouflage against reporters."

"Does it work?"

"You see any reporters hanging around?" Jim challenged.

Madeline inserted the key into the luxury car her father leased and kept at Manor House. For a moment, she thought about walking the short distance down to Crabapple Farm, but quickly changed her mind.

She wasn't that girl anymore.

"Honey" was as gone as no brand jeans and headbands.

And if she mourned the happy memories from that time, then she just shoved those feelings into the dark recesses of her mind and moved forward.

Diana frowned at her but didn't say anything as they drove the short distance between the houses.

She raised her hand to knock on the farmhouse door, cursing her own awkwardness. Old memories warred with modern training. She sighed, pushing "Honey" aside and defaulting back into corporate mode before rapping sharply on the door.

"That's probably my sister," Jim said. Madeline heard him through the closed door and grinned a bit. Jim hadn't liked the changes in her over the years and had flat out refused to call her "Madeline".

"Why is Honey knocking?" The voice was deep and dark and for a moment Madeline thought of the finest chocolates she ever ate. Rich, velvety made with Marc de Champagne, they had bloomed on her taste buds in an exquisite, sensual dance. Madeline felt a curious swirl of arousal at the thought of how that voice would sound at 2am as he reached for her to slate their combined hungers for more than mere food.

"Who's that?" Di mouthed.

Madeline shrugged. "Bobby?" Oh please, let it not be Bobby, she thought. Not with that deep tremble bass tones. Decadent fantasies clawed at her, begging to be set free but she fought them with the same tenacity as her Sleepyside memories.

Di shook her head. "He's 18. I doubt he's awake at 8 o'clock."

The door opened and Honey stared up, up, up at the largest man she had ever seen. Long moments passed between her brain engaging and her mouth working. "Brian?" she said. Oh dear Lord, that delicious voice with the seductive heavy weight to it belonged to Brian Belden.

She was toast.

"Holy crap, Brian!"

"Honey. Di," Brian greeted.

"You're huge," Di said. "What happened?"

"He works out."

"Dan!" Both women turned and embraced the dark eyed man. Waves of emotion, so long absent from the sunny kitchen, surrounded the old friends in a welcoming warm embrace.

Trixie came into the kitchen, curls damp, weapon firmly in place. It wasn't much by many people's standards. A 5/8ths wrench small enough to slip into her pocket but big enough to hit an attacker on the head. Or at least that's what her self-defense coach told her. She hadn't needed it in all the years she carried it, but felt naked without its welcoming weight in her pocket.

Six of her best friends stood or sat in her mother's kitchen. "You guys are going to wake Bobby up," she scolded with a watery grin. How had it all gone so astray? How had they forgotten all they had meant to each other?

"It's just Bob now," came his sleepy voice from behind her.

"Sorry, Just Bob," Trixie said with a smile.

"All we're missing is Mart," Jim said, glancing around the room.

"I talked to him last night," Di said. "He's flying in today. He has leave this weekend."

Dan and Brian exchanged a look and Trixie filed it away for future reference.

"I can't believe you all came," Trixie said after hugging had faded and exclamations had quieted down.

"Trix, Emma Ray's death haunted all of us," Dan said. "None of us were ever the same. How had a murderer been in Sleepyside and no one knew? How did we not know?"

Trixie's eyes took in this group of friends who had been her world. Somehow, with age, everything had simultaneously changed but stayed essentially the same. Honey was now Madeline. Jim had brown hair. Brian and Dan looked like fully armed linebackers and Di was on a famous reality TV show. Where did that leave her?

Trixie nodded. "Except you guys all stayed in touch." She tried to keep the jealousy out of her voice but sensed she failed.

"Not really," Madeline said, biting her lip.

Madeline. Where had her best friend Honey gone?

"My father had business dealings with Mr. Wheeler," Di said. "So, yeah I still saw Hon – I mean, Madeline, sorry. Occasionally."

"It's okay," Madeline said. Maybe she could be both. Madeline the corporate lawyer, battling over contracts and fees, but Honey to her life-long friends.

"I moved back to Rochester as soon as my inheritance was cleared," Jim said. "I haven't spoken to anyone except lunch once a month with Honey." He arched a brow, daring her to contradict her and smiled when she remained silent.

"Brian and I are in the same unit," Dan said. "And we see Mart when we're all in the same area."

Trixie's bottom lip trembled, a weakness she hadn't let herself have in years. "I missed you guys," she finally whispered and found herself in the center of a dozen armed hug.

Di's slim hands framed Trixie's tear-stained cheeks. "Listen to me, Trixie Belden," she said with quiet authority. "The Bob-Whites have always been a Trixie-centric group. If we were a town, it would be Trixieville. If it were an Islamic nation we'd have called ourselves Trixiestan. If it were the birthplace of motion pictures, we'd all be singing "Hooray for Trixiewood'. We bounced around, sometimes even bounced into each other. But always without you – our center. We were like planets without a sun to pull us together. So don't ever think we were all just happily going along with our lives without you."

Tears welled in Trixie's eyes as the others nodded their assent to Di's words. Her breath caught as she said, "I love you guys."

Another round of hugs followed but this time, shadows and hard feelings had fallen by the wayside and healing began.

"I don't know if I'm staying," she said, quietly as her emotions settled. "Not really sure of anything right now except I need to figure out what happened the night Emma Ray was killed. I need to know what happened to her and me. Why I have no memories of after I found her in the Preserve."

"Home isn't a place," Madeline said, her voice quiet with reflection. She shared a long look with Jim. "Home is the way we feel when we're together."

"I got the things you said you'd need," Bob said, breaking the heavy emotional moment. "They're in the garage."

Trixie nodded. "Thanks, Bob. I appreciate it."

"Do we want to use the old clubhouse?" Madeline asked. "I brought the keys."

Trixie nodded. "Sounds good. We may as well begin there."

"Let's walk," Brian said, tugging gently on Madeline's arm.

Trixie's lips quirked. "You guys go ahead and get the place opened up," she said. "We'll be behind you with the things in the garage."

"Hey," Bob said as they walked out the door. "Why are we letting them go ahead?" Trixie elbowed him in the stomach. "Ouch!"

"Oh my God, Bob," Trixie grumbled. "They wanted to be alone. Let's give them some privacy, okay?"

Bob rubbed his belly. "Ugh. Fine. Think he'll be able to find our Honey under all those designer clothes and perfume?"

"I hope so," Jim muttered. "I hope so."

"What happened to you?" Brian asked as they left earshot of their childhood friends and family.

"I could ask the same thing of you," Madeline said, brushing at a stray hair off her wool blazer. She didn't know what he was complaining about. Jeans and riding boots combined with a white top and navy wool blazer. Just the thing for a fall day in the country. She was perfectly, appropriately dressed.

"Don't give me a coy answer," Brian said. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath of the wild chill of the autumn air. "I grew up," she finally said. "Mother and Dad were pressuring me. I was tutored and started college at 17. I had an image to live up to. A reputation to live down. And I guess resistance was futile."

"Do you remember our first kiss?" Brian asked as she opened the door to the clubhouse. A decade of cobwebs and dust greeted them.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Madeline said, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the dirt and grime.

Brian tilted her chin up and gazed into her gentle hazel eyes. Slowly, giving her a million years to pull away, he lowered his head and kissed her. Gently at first. Tasting. Nipping lightly at her lips, enjoying the delicate curve of her body. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered across her lips, his nose gently bumping hers.

She whimpered lightly, her eyes closing as pleasure washed over her.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" Brian asked again, stroking her nose with his and pressing a light kiss on the top curve of her cheek.

"We can't go back," she said.

"Who said anything about going back? I want to go forward."

"I'm not a toy," she said, opening her eyes and watching his reaction to her words.

"No," Brian said, holding her in his arms. "You're a vibrant woman who deserves to love and be loved."

"Then what are you doing?" she asked, quiet desperation creeping into her voice. "We aren't kids anymore. We can't go back to being high school sweethearts. I'm a corporate lawyer. Respected. Feared in some circles."

Brian's lips quirked with humor. "You wanna' intimidate me?"

Madeline bit her lip to keep from smiling. "I can serve you with interrogatories that will keep you busy for the rest of the year."

"I'm shaking," Brian said, his voice serious but his chocolate brown eyes alight with humor. "In my boots. Truly."

Madeline's smile turned impish. "Beast," she teased.

Brian's eyes cast downwards, focusing on her soft lips. "My job doesn't give me a lot of time stateside," he said, brushing his lips against hers in an enticing, teasing, tug at her senses kiss.

"Did you become a doctor?" She struggled to stay focused.

"No. I'm a medic in the Navy," he said. "Dan and I are in the same SEAL team."

"You're a SEAL?" Honey had heard of them, of course. All of her favorite romance novels featured some big, rugged bad ass SEAL. But gentle, sweet Brian?

She eyed her youthful beloved. Gone was the boy with the gentle hands and kind eyes. In his place was a big, rugged bad ass SEAL with hardened eyes and battle scars.

He nodded. "Are you dating anyone?" he asked.

"Brian! We just met again after ten years apart. Are you seriously asking me out on a date?"

He shook his head. "I don't have time to date. I want to know if you'd be the woman I come home to."

"That's awfully quick."

"Life is quick," Brian said. "Here today, gone tomorrow. If this was a different time, I'd take you out for an ice cream. We'd talk and maybe in a few weeks, I'd move on to hand holding. Maybe even a kiss goodnight. You deserve that. All of that. But I don't have the luxury of time. I can't go slowly. I don't have six months to a year of courtship before moving this forward. I know what I want."

"I've changed. I'm not the girl you crushed on all those years ago."

"My Honey is still in there," Brian said, nuzzling her nape. With deft fingers, he pulled the pins out of her hair, letting the soft waves cascade around her shoulders. Strong fingers massaged her scalp, pulling an unwilling groan of pleasure from her lips.

"What if I were dating someone?"

"He'd have to go," Brian said, pulling her into his arms. "But really, I already knew the answer. Asking was just a formality."

"And how do you already know?" she asked as their lips met and tongues gently tangled.

"First off, no man would have let you wander around without his ring on your finger," Brian said. "And secondly, you'd never have let me kiss you if you had a boyfriend. You wouldn't have changed that much."

"Think we should give them some privacy?" Di asked, grinning at the couple currently wrapped tightly around each other in the dark, dusty confines of the old gatehouse. Ah, if only those old walls could talk, the stories they would tell.

Honey colored hair cascaded around her shoulders, shielding the kissing couple from the prying eyes of family and friends.

Jim groaned playfully. "I guess we can set this stuff up in the library."

"Should we leave a note?" Trixie asked, biting her lip.

"Brian heard us, Freckles," Dan said, placing his hand on her low back and walking with her as they climbed the drive way up to the Manor House. "He'll know where to find us."

Half an hour later a well-kissed woman and a slightly smug SEAL joined their friends. Honey was peeking out of the Madeline façade she had developed over the last ten years, determined to be free once more.


	3. Chapter 3

The young man sighed as he put his foot on the rim of the shovel to give it some weight. Another dead kitten.

This was the third one he buried this month.

Frank Lytell whistled as he approached his store on Glen Road. The stray he had been feeding for the last few months and had finally had her kittens.

Using a large Rubbermaid storage container, he had cut open a "kitty door" and used a small blanket as a bed for the pregnant momma. He had a call in to the town vet to get the momma and babies spayed and neutered. He had high hopes of adopting the kittens out, but he planned on keeping the momma and one of her babies.

He had a well-earned reputation as a grim, crotchety old man. A reputation he went to great pains to protect and encourage. How else was he supposed to keep those dad gum kids from coming into his store and messing with his inventory and stock?

But he had a secret fondness for kittens.

Their soft fur, large ears, and helpless mewls as they looked for their mother melted the iciness around his grumpy heart. This litter of four kittens was as diverse as he had ever seen. A black male with white "mittens" was his favorite followed by a calico cutie, a little tabby, and a buff and white brindle he had already named Daffy.

The mama cat meowed pitifully as Frank approached the store. He frowned, looking for the kittens in the little nest he had made but only one calico remained.

Muttering to himself, he loaded the remaining cats into the bin and brought them in the store.


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay," Trixie recounted. "To catch Honey and Brian up," she paused to emphasize Honey's nickname, "there have been similar unsolved murders every few years around this area. Different victimology, but same MO."

"Victimology?" Bob asked.

Trixie nodded. "It's the study of the victims." She pointed to the Sleepyside. "Here," she said, pinning in a colored tack, "is where Emma Ray was found, drowned. She was six years old, female, no signs of sexual abuse."

Jim rose, looking at the newspaper clipping Trixie had brought with her. He inserted a second tack. "This is where Timmy Stewart was found," he said, reading the article. "Five year old male."

Together, the group sorted through print outs of old newspaper articles until all the pegs were in the board.

"We've had a serial killer?" Bob asked, his jaw dropping in shock. "In Sleepyside?" He counted the tacks in the map. "There are five kids, all dead. No one noticed this before?"

"Five kids in almost 10 years," Trixie said. "Hard to see the pattern if you aren't looking for it."

"Which you are. Now," Jim said, admiration glowing in his green eyes.

Dan rose to his feet and stared at the map, intently. "There's a pattern," he said, his eyes widening with realization. "Look."

"What pattern?" Trixie said. "I didn't see a pattern."

Dan picked up a pencil, and drew a series of lines on the map.

"It's a triangle," Brian stated.

"Great job, Doctor Obvious," Dan said with a snort.

"Bite me, Mangan."

"Not enough penicillin in the world, bro."

"Knock it off, you, two," Jim said, rising to stare at the map. "So it's a rough triangle. What does that mean?"

Trixie bit her thumb. "Dr. Rossmo of the Vancouver Police Department theorized that by crime mapping an investigator can display the most likely location of where the bad guy lives. The model is based on the assumption that bad guys are more likely to select their victims and commit a crime which would be centered near their home address."

"They wouldn't want it too close," Jim said. "Wouldn't people recognize them?"

"Very good," Trixie said. "You'd be surprised how many people in my criminology classes didn't understand that part. You're right. There is also a buffer zone where the bad guy will avoid committing crimes too close to their own home due to the high probability that they would be identified by a neighbor."

A moment of agreement passed between them and Jim lightly touched her shoulder. "Are you a detective now?"

Trixie shook her head. "No. My PTSD kept me out of the police force but one of my professors was a former Secret Service Agent. He was able to get me an interview with the investigative units of the Secret Service investigating counterfeiting."

"When is your interview?" Jim asked.

"December 1," Trixie said. "So we should have enough time to scare up this bad guy and get me to DC for my interview."

"Is that where you're going to be living?"

Trixie shook her head. "I don't know. I don't even have the job, yet. It's for a liaison position working with banking personnel on spotting fake bills. It would mean travel in a general geographic … location." She paused as something occurred to her.

"What about a sales route?" she blurted out, looking up at Dan. "Like for a doctor's office. That could explain the scattering of bodies."

"Is Ruthie still in town?" Honey asked. "I think it's time to talk to her. See what pieces of the puzzle she can add."

"And is she single? Chicks dig scars," Dan said, showing off a particularly vicious looking scare on his left forearm. "You know, this coming home isn't half bad."

"Keep it up, Mangan and I'm sure I can arrange a permanent leave."

"You two are worse than Trixie and Mart," Bob said with a grumble. "Ruthie Kettner is an English teacher at the high school."

"Speaking of school, shouldn't you be in class, Just Bob?" Dan teased.

"It's Saturday," Bob said.

"Let's talk to Ruthie first," Trixie decided. "Then we go to Molinson with what we've got. He's going to want this case solved, too."

Brian shook his head. "You and Honey go talk to Ruthie. We're intimidating as a group."

"You're intimidating, just breathing," Bob retorted.

Brian smacked his little brother on the back of the head. "And don't forget it.

"I have to pick Mart up at the airport," Di said. She glanced at her watch. "His plane should be flying into JFK in a few hours."

"I'll come with you," Brian said.

"Yeah, I've got nothing else going on since Freckles and Honey are off to talk to Ruthie. I'll tag along to the City, too."

"Jim, can you call and see if we can get in to see Molinson tonight or tomorrow?" Trixie asked. "And then go home and wash your hair a few more times? See if you can get that semi-permanent hair color to take a hike?"

Jim's lips quirked with humor. "I'll see what I can do."

"Maybe we can bleach it blond?" Dan suggested.

"Or a crew cut?" Brian offered.

"Bite me," Jim said as the group dispersed.

"Not enough penicillin in the world," Dan said with a snort.


	5. Chapter 5

"It's early yet," Trixie said, glancing at her watch. "Let's walk up to Ten Acres."

Honey nodded.

Trixie indicated two charred old rocks that stood where the old Summerhouse had once been and they sat, staring at the way nature had reclaimed the area once occupied by majestic Victorian home.

"Does Jim still own the land?" Trixie asked.

"As far as I know," Honey said. "He doesn't come here a lot. I think the memories are too much." She shivered as a cool wind blew. "I haven't been up here in years."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Trixie broke it saying, "Where did you go?"

Honey sighed, looking at her glossy perfectly done acrylic nails. "After you were found beaten and bloody, it was all too much. First Emma-"

"I was what?" Trixie said, her mouth agape.

"You were beaten up, Trix." Honey frowned. "Don't you remember?"

Trixie closed her eyes as ancient memories cascaded through her. "I don't remember," she said. "I remember being in hospital, but I can't remember much from that time. We found the body and the paramedics came. You called them. Right?"

Honey nodded. "You and Jim took turns doing CPR after she was pulled out of the creek but the paramedics said it was too late. She'd been gone too long."

Trixie frowned. "I remember that. A little. And then it goes foggy. What happened next?"

Honey bit her lip. "No one really knows, I guess, but you. You snuck out of your room that night and were discovered by joggers by the Country Club."

"I was at the Country Club to follow up on a clue?" Trixie asked. That didn't seem right. What had she been thinking?

"No, Molinson was able to determine it was a secondary location. You'd been dumped there wearing jeans and Jim's Princeton University hoodie." She indicated with a wave of her hand. "Probably the one you're in now."

Trixie looked down at the sweatshirt she had found under her bed. "This is Jim's?"

Honey smiled. "It was. You adopted it right after he got it, I think."

Trixie closed her eyes. "It smelled like him. His cologne."

Honey sighed. "Isn't it wonderful? When you feel them hugging you through their shirts?"

Trixie rummaged in her pocket, looking for clues. "It's a ticket. Like one you'd win playing skee ball or corn hole or something."

"Probably from the County Fair we had gone to earlier that day."

"Wait. What? The County Fair?"

Honey nodded. "I thought I had my memories bottled up but this is crazy, Trix. You don't remember any of it?"

Trixie shook her head, slowly. "That explains my flashbacks," she said. "They've been increasing since I've been here. Not strong, not like when Brian snuck up on me. Smaller ones I've been fighting them. They're teasing my memories. My therapist said it was my brains way of protecting itself from something earth shattering and then when I'm ready to remember, I will." She pulled out her small wrench. "I started packing this as a weapon right after I settled in Coeur D'Alene. That at least makes sense."

"Could it have been someone you knew? Is that why you blocked the memory?"

"I don't know. It's all a blank." She checked her watch. "It's almost 11 o'clock now. Let me go back to the Farm and grab my wallet." She sighed. Meeting up with Ruthie was going to be hard but it had to be done.


	6. Chapter 6

The answering machine was blinking a steady beat when Trixie ran into the kitchen. This wasn't really her home anymore, but what if it was important?

Cautiously, biting her lip, she pushed the "play" button.

"I got another one. One of these horrid toys that only serve…" Ruthie's voice caught but she took a deep breath and continued on a hoarse cry. "You need to make your daughter stop."

"Honey, come quick!" Trixie called to the young woman standing on the front porch.

"Trix? What is it?"

Both women were unconscious of the old groove they fell into – the groove old friendships carve in our lives. The well-worn furrow of dilemma, call, and immediate assistance. Unlike Frost's less traveled road, old friendships create their own well-trod paths that make all the difference.

"Listen to this," Trixie said, hurriedly replaying the message.

"What does that mean?" Honey said, her brow furrowing in thought. "She's in as much pain now as she was then, Trix. We can't… well, we can't."

"No, we have to figure this out and then talk to her. We can't raise her hopes only to dash them, again."

"But what toys? Did you drop off a toy?"

"No, of course not," Trixie said. Her blue eyes widened with realization. "Oh. My. God. Honey. What if the murderer has been giving her the toys? She could be in danger!"

Honey pulled out her iPhone and shot a text to Dan. "Okay. Dan is staying back from Operation Mart. Let's go up to the Manor House and talk about this. Figure out what it means."

"I already know what it means," Trixie said with an impatient toss of her curls. "It means I need to figure out what happened that night in the woods. I need to remember." She paused a moment before grabbing her wallet and a bottle of water. "Let's go get Jim and Dan and we'll walk through all of our memories. The murderer is there – in my memories. It has to be. We need to unlock them and solve this case."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Manor House**_

"How do we start?" Jim asked as they sat in the library. His big hands clenched in fists on the tops of his knees and he felt as helpless as a boy whose mother was slowly dying of cancer. Forced to watch from the sidelines, willing to help, but he unable to battle the demon inside her.

Honey lit various candles. "Lavender is very soothing," she said, waving her hand and filling the air with the natural, relaxing scent.

"Let's start in the beginning," Trixie said, settling into her chair and closing her eyes.

"No," Dan said. "Let's start before the beginning. Start from the end of your school day."

"Okay," Trixie said, holding Jim's hand and resettling, sifting through memories like a faded scrap book.

"Mart and Di had been named homecoming king and queen that year. She and Mart made a striking couple, I remember thinking." Her lips quirked. "But of course, I would never in a million years tell Mart that."

"Of course not," Dan agreed.

"This was the following weekend," Honey clarified, her lawyer's brain sorting through layers of irrelevant data. "It was the Friday before Halloween," she said, sitting down.

"Trixie and I had a date for the carnival," Jim said. "Brian was away at school but I managed to come home."

Trixie frowned. "I found the skee ball tickets in the hoodie." She rummaged in the pocket, producing a stream of tickets and an old lollipop wrapper. "Did we play?"

"Yes," Jim confirmed.

"I beat you?" Trixie caught at a fragment of memory and began unravelling it.

"It wasn't really a competition," Jim said.

Trixie waved her hand and made a blowing sound. "Yeah, whatever. I whupped your butt in skee ball. Get over it."

Jim smiled at the shadows of "his" Trixie and tugged on a curl just because he could. "We went on a few rides. Do you remember any of them, Trix?"

Trixie took a deep breath, relaxed, and forced herself to pour over memories long forgotten. "Dinner was corn dogs and funnel cake. I remember thinking Moms would have a cow if she knew."

"Yep, we did. And yep, she probably would have."

"We met up with Dan and Honey, right? Outside the House of Mirrors." She shuddered. "That place gave me the heebie jeebies."

"Why?" Honey asked, forehead creasing. "You never get the heebie jeebies."

"I can't remember why," Trixie said. "A child was screaming. In pain."

Jim startled in his seat. "You're right. I remember that, too," he said, excitedly.

"Was it Emma Ray?" Honey asked. "I don't remember anyone crying."

"Neither do I," Dan said. "But I do remember Nick Roberts and his brother were there, too. Maybe we can put them on a list to interro..uh. I mean question?"

"Maybe," Trixie said with a sigh. "We'll get back to that," Trixie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Let me think. I was 15 so I think my curfew on Friday night was 11pm."

"It was but we didn't go home, remember? Ruthie came up to us outside the funnel cake stand to say her sister had wondered off and asked if we could help look for her."

"How did we get out to the Preserve?" Trixie asked. "Wait. There was a car we were following?"

Jim nodded. "Dr. Ferris was there, working at the first aid tent. He said he thought he saw Emma Ray leaving in an old SUV. We followed them down Glen Road but they were so far ahead of us, we lost them. By that time the police were at the carnival site, looking for Emma Ray."

"Ferris, huh?" Dan asked, deep in thought. "Another suspect to question."

_No_, Trixie thought, _that didn't feel right._ But the old doctor may have some perspective on that night.

Honey wiped tears from her eyes, thoughts of the fear and pain Emma Ray must have gone through tugging at her heart. "We pulled into Lytell's Grocery to ask him if he had seen anything. He said he hadn't seen the SUV so we knew it had to have gone somewhere between town and his store."

"Good thing for nosy neighbors, huh?" Trixie said.

"I stayed with Ruthie and the police, looking for Emma Ray," Dan said.

"Molinson said it was just a crazy hunch, didn't he? That's why he didn't come with us down Glen Road," Trixie said, frowning in concentration.

"Didn't he always?" Honey said with a derisive sniff.

Jim nodded. "I parked the car and got Patch and some flashlights. Reagan and Dad and Mr. Belden came up and we scoured the Preserve."

"I remember that! It reminded me of the time Bobby got lost, except Dan wasn't out there," Trixie said. She turned to Honey. "We even worried about Emma Ray finding a catamount, didn't we?"

Honey nodded, tacitly agreeing with Trixie's comments. "And then it was all so fast," Honey continued. "Patch started barking and we ran and there she was. Face down in the creek."

"I got wet, running to her, didn't I?" Trixie said, her own tears beginning to fall. "She was so little. So small. And all I could think was we had to start CPR as soon as possible. And why wasn't Brian there?" Her voice caught. "He was the one who was so good at all of that stuff."

Jim's own eyes got bright with emotions. "We took turns with the CPR while Honey called the police and ambulance to find us. Your dad and mine went out to the house to guide them in but by that time, it was too late."

"She was gone." Fresh shudders shook Trixie's shoulders as a wall of data crashed into her. "That poor baby. Gone so young."

"After that," Honey's cracked voice took up the story, "the Kettners came out and everyone was yelling. Blaming. It was horrid and ugly and I can't even blame them. Their daughter died, but there was nothing we could do. Nothing we could have done."

_It wasn't fair that our loved ones die_, Dan thought, cooled to the bone by his own interpretation of that night. _Was love even worth it in the end? _He'd seen more than his share of death before turning 18 and still, as an adult, chose a career where death was an all-too-real aspect.

"And you sat there," Jim said, linking his hand with his once and future special girl. "You sat there, soaking wet and in shock. No one could reach you. Finally, Dr. Ferris came out and he gave us all a sedative so we could sleep."

"Ferris again, huh?" Dan said with a grunt.

Trixie's eyes felt gritty and tired as she looked up into Jim's brilliant emerald eyes. "But that's not where it ended, is it?"

"You look beat, Trix," Jim said. "Why don't we take a break before we continue?"

Trixie set her jaw, stubbornly. "No, we're in this far, we need to finish it."

Jim sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I couldn't sleep," Jim said, finally. "I kept staring out the window, wondering if I had driven home faster if I'd have been in time to save her. Did we stay too long at Lytell's? Anything. And then I saw a flashlight coming up from Crabapple Farm and I knew you couldn't sleep, either. I grabbed my own flashlight and followed you back into the Preserve."

"You didn't call out?" Trixie said.

"No, if you were hot on a lead I didn't want to scare the bad guy off and I figured you'd notice me soon enough."

"Honey said we were attacked."

Dan nodded. "You were both found by a jogger out at the country club but the CSIs confirmed it was a secondary location. You were attacked in the Preserve."

"I was hit from behind," Jim said, rubbing the back of his neck, the shadow of a crowbar welt still there.

"I don't remember," Trixie said with a little puff of air. She frowned, willing the memories to come back, as if by force alone she could access them.

"You were hit," Honey said, rising to hug her friend. "Punched several times and ligature marks around your neck, like you'd been choked."

Trixie's own small, cool hands touched her neck. She was so cold. The pressure was unbearable and she had to get to Jim. Why was he doing this? Surreality surrounded her and she blocked it off, pushed it back. Unbelieving it could have been him to do this.

Dan's sharp intake of breath caught startled them all. "That second boy. Timmy Stewart. The news article said he'd been strangled." His dark eyes met Trixie's bright blue ones. "You were attacked by the killer and lived."


	8. Chapter 8

With more than an ounce of trepidation, Honey rapped sharply on Ruthie Kettner's front door.

"Go away, Honey Wheeler," came the sharp voice inside the house.

"We just want to talk, Ruthie," Dan said, using the same voice he'd used to soothe horses, personnel unwilling to be extracted, and the occasional woman. Brian's voice could soothe or terrify, depending on his mood. But Dan knew his beguiled and entranced. His team often relied on his voice to calm the hysteria of captives as well as lulling bad guys into a false sense of security during interrogation. "We want to help you."

After a moment, Ruthie opened the door. "Don't you get it?" she demanded. "Emma Ray's passing destroyed my parents. They were divorced that next year. My dad turned to booze and wound up wrapping himself around a tree." He voice caught and pain, raw and powerful, excuded from her. "My mom is still a wreck." Her voice caught and something close to hatred flashed in their brown depths.

"Shh," Dan whispered, leading the way into the house and giving her no room for denial. He held her and pulled her tight against his chest. He'd seen this in the grief stricken. Strong too long, depended on too much, and no one had ever just let them cry it out.

Human touch was a funny thing, he mused.

Ruthie felt those impossibly strong arms around her, holding her, pulling her tightly against him, sealing and mending some of the cracks in her façade. Honey's gentle hand on her back was more than she could take, and like a release valve, the flood of emotions broke past the self-formed dam around her heart.

Words poured out like the tides of the ocean. Angry words. Hurtful, sob-garbled phrases that meant nothing to Dan and Honey as they simply held her and let the pent up poison in her system drain.

Long moments later, as her tears dried and her shoulders ceased shaking, Dan lead her to the couch to relax while Honey searched for a glass of water.

"I'm sorry," Ruthie said after a few moments of quiet. "I really lost it there, didn't I?"

"You held on too long," Honey said, soothingly. "It's okay."

"It's been ten years," she said. "Everyone says I need to get over it!"

Honey bit her lip, unsure for a moment. She reached for Ruthie's hand and held it in her own. "Loss doesn't work like that," she said finally. "Life is an intricate tapestry and everyone in it, a string. One string ended and your tapestry doesn't look the same anymore. That isn't something you get over, it's something you incorporate into the tapestry."

Brown eyes met hazel as the two women shared their unique feminine strengths.

Finally, Ruthie sipped at the water and wiped at her cheeks. "Tea," she said. "Let me make some tea."

Honey nodded. "That would be good," she said with an encouraging smile. "And then we can talk, okay?"

Dan touched Ruthie's hand. "Trixie is home and we're trying to solve Emma Ray's murder. We need to have you walk us through the night she died."

Hours later, as Dan buckled himself into the car, he said, "There's a connection with the fair."

"Agreed," Honey said.

"Emma Ray skinned her knee leaving the House of Mirrors, which explains Trixie's feelings."

"And she went to the first aid tent to get a Band-Aid."

"Ferris again," Dan said.

"Can't be him," Honey said, jaw set.

"You think or you know?" Dan challenged. "Because no one ever suspect someone could be a murderer."

"He's an older man," Honey said. "Overpowering a little girl is one thing. But whoever did this was able to attack Trixie, knock Jim out, and move both of their bodies."

"He could have had an assistant," Dan said, warming to his theory.

"He's our town's doctor," Honey said with a final shake of her head.


	9. Chapter 9

"Why don't you admit I'm better at this than you are?" Trixie said with a laugh.

Jim grumbled good-naturedly as he searched in vain for a good skipping rock. "I'm just out of practice," he said.

Trixie's eyes soaked in the view of the Wheeler's lake, absorbing in the winter-grey trees and azure sky. This late in October, most of the leaves were gone, strewn about in a toffee brown carpet of leaves. The cold bite of wind blew her curls, telling her a cold front was coming in.

Jim tugged delicately on one of her curls and smiled when it bounced back into place. "You're better than I am a lot of things," he finally admitted.

Trixie's eyes misted with the restrained emotion in his voice. "We're supposed to be having fun. Relaxing. Dr. Frayne's orders."

"Julianna once told me that her memories came back when she stopped trying," he said, linking their hands together.

"Here's to not trying," she agreed. They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, each lost in the thrill and thrall of an autumn afternoon with each other. "Tell me about your farm," Trixie urged as they walked slowly up to the now empty barn.

"I bought the place my dad used to own. Regan and his wife bought the place adjacent to it and give riding lessons."

"What did your dad do with the horses?" Trixie asked. The snug building still bore the hoof print of horse odor, she thought, as they entered the barn. Loose hay and stray grains of horse feed littered the floor. The air in the quiet building was redolent with the vague leftover scent of old leather and wax.

"They're with me," Jim said, leading her upstairs to what was once Regan's apartment. "Regan is taking care of the animals. It's late fall, so only my winter garden is in. Canning is done." He shrugged. "You picked a good time to come home."

"I've read your blog," Trixie said as they stood in the center of the living room. Dust motes clung to the streaks of sunlight in the nearly empty room. Jim pulled a dust cloth off a couch and encouraged her to sit down.

"Thanks. I always kind of hoped you'd find me," he admitted shyly. "I make a decent living off my writing. I get feedback from so many people tired of the suburban life. Worried about this additive or that pesticide. Self-sustaining farming is a lot of work. Crops fail. Deer seem to enjoy my corn more than I'd prefer. Squirrels like my tomatoes. But it's better than being shut up in an office wearing a tie every day with shoes that cost more than most people earn in a month."

They were quiet, thoughtful as the sounds of the old building settling in the wind calmed their nerves.

"I can see that," Trixie said, finally breaking the companionable silence. "Do you miss the dream of opening up a boy's school?"

He shrugged. "I missed the way it was. You. Me. Honey. The Bob-Whites. But a boyhood plan dreamt up while Jonesy was laying on the strap for some imagined wrong? Not so much." He brought her close to him as they shared their warmth with each other. "What about you, baby?"

"I miss us, too," she said after a moment. "I miss the excitement I felt at solving mysteries but then I think of Emma Ray and I realize how blind-ass cocky I was. How lucky I was that no one else was ever hurt during those years. I still want to solve puzzles and mysteries. I'm good at it, or at least I was. But I lost confidence in myself."

"Let's see if solving this mystery will help you find it, again, Shamus," Jim said, tugging her into his arms and kissing her softly.

Lips met and Trixie's heart beat loudly in her chest. The dull ache in her chest that she'd existed with for more than a decade faded as her connection to Jim and the past grew. She began to embrace both who she was and who she was meant to be.

Daughter, sister, Bob-White, best friend, and beloved.


	10. Chapter 10

**Crabapple Farm **

"We'll need to ask Doc Ferris some questions," Trixie decided. She raised her hand to quell Dan and Honey's comments. "I don't suspect him, but he may have more to the story."

Tires crunched in the driveway and Jim stood up. "Di is back with Mart and the gang," he stated.

Trixie nodded and hugged herself. Of all her friends and family reunions, this one was going to be the hardest. Mart had simultaneously been her closest ally and enemy growing up, but their last words with each other – AT each other – had been harsh.

"Look who finally got here," Bob said, bouncing into the house, exuberant that his brothers and sister were finally under one roof again.

"Hey," Trixie said, blue eyes averted. The funny thing about family, she realized. Close family didn't allow for pride. How could she tell? Because her pride sat there, an elephant in the suddenly too small kitchen.

"Hey," Mart said, and Trixie smiled at the irony of Mart at a loss for words.

She was aware of the stillness in the room as family and friends watched them.

"Could one of you do me a favor?" Bob finally asked, popping a can of Coke to break the silence.

"What's that?" Brian asked.

"Could you guys stop looking at them like you expect them to kill each other?"

Tension broke with a nervous giggle and a sigh of relief.

Trixie finally looked at her brother – really looked and saw him. "You grew up."

Mart nodded, still quiet as he absorbed the picture of the Bob-Whites together once more. "You look like… nothing has happened," he finally blurted out. "Unchanged and still in the center of it all."

"Mart," Diana said with a shocked whisper.

"Is that what you think?" Trixie asked, her temper igniting with his harsh tone. "Because I could same the same for you. Same crew cut. Same blue eyes. Same unwillingness to understand."

"You're better than that, Trix," Mart said, challenging her. Daring her to admit the changes wrought to their group of friends. "You can't see any differences? How about how none of us are doing what we planned back in high school? My wife is off living a lie on some stupid TV show, and Brian and Dan are off saving the world, one terrorist at a time?"

Once sprung, the leak in Mart's temper shot with geyser-like intensity. "Jim is practically a hermit like his uncle – hiding out on that farm and disguising himself in public and walking away from his family."

"Wait, your wife?" Brian asked, clarifying the throw away statement Mart made of momentous news.

"When did that happen?" Honey asked.

"That's not entirely Trixie's fault," Jim interrupted quietly, ignoring the distractions of side conversations.

"Must you always defend her?" Mart demanded, ignoring the feeling of Di's small hand slipping into his as she attempted to soothe the frayed ends of his temper.

"Yes," Jim said, his eyes meeting Mart's. "I will always defend her."

Trixie sat in a chair, stunned. She did this. With one case – fear and anxiety had become hard-wired in her core. With one move, she had irrevocably changed everyone's life.

"You abandoned us," Mart finished. "You made this bed – this huge dream of being a teenaged sleuth, but you couldn't handle the reality. So you bolted."

Trixie flushed at the truth in his words.

Brian stood up, ready to intervene but realizing all their hearts were tight with words unsaid. Maybe this "showdown" was as necessary as the reunion.

"I didn't expect anyone to die," Trixie said, defensively.

Mart snorted derisively. "We were teenagers, not toddlers. Did you really think you could get involved with international smugglers, diamond thieves, and counterfeiters and there would be no repercussions?"

"I was cocky," she admitted

"And didn't listen to anyone," Mart said, the words needing to be said. "You kept pushing, pushing, pushing and damn all consequences."

"She didn't cause Emma Ray's death," Jim finally said with calm determination.

"No, she didn't," Mart agreed, looking at Jim, frowning at the red hair peaking beneath a muddy brown stain. "But she broke, and instead of dealing with it, she ran off to freaking Idaho."


	11. Chapter 11

**Doctor Ferris' home**

Dr. Ferris peered over his readers in a way that made Trixie feel ten years old again. "I don't think I understand your question, Beatrix," he finally said.

Honey and Di shared a smiled as Trixie became simultaneously annoyed and chastised by the use of her given name.

"What we're asking is to walk us through the night of the County Fair," Honey said, soothingly. With a pang, she realized this was part of her old life she missed the most. As a corporate lawyer, she never soothed anyone. Normally, it was attack mode, subpoenas and mounds of interrogatories in 6 point font.

"Are you accusing me of anything?" the older man asked, his once genial blue eyes narrowing in distrust.

"Not at all," Trixie said, wisely keeping quiet on Dan's suspicions. They were groundless, after all. Weren't they? "But you alerted Jim and me about seeing Emma Ray leaving in an SUV. I was hoping you could tell the story again."

"I have gone over that story a million times with Molinson," Dr. Ferris said, anger stirring. "You think I don't feel horrible for that little girl?" he challenged. "Trust me, I do. I'm a doctor – protecting life is what I do."

"We're trying to get to the bottom of it," Di said, her large amethyst eyes pleading. "This horrible event has scarred so many of our lives and the killer or killers need to be punished."

"And I'm sure you'd like to help us apprehend whoever did this," Honey added, interjecting serenity into the rising voices. The feeling of rightness entered her bones as she realized this was her gift. Soothing. Calming. Finding balance between angry factions. "You were there that night at the first aid tent," she said, coaxingly.

Dr. Ferris nodded, grudgingly. "Nick and Scott Roberts were there for a while, handing out lollipops to the kids who had been hurt. Nick made the kids laugh, drawing caricatures of all the kids with their Band-Aids and boo-boos."

Dr. Ferris closed his eyes and Honey saw, with empathy and grace, the raw wound that night had placed on him.

So many festering wounds yearning to be healed.

"The milk bottle game," he said, finally. "You remember, don't you Madeline? You toss the ring onto the milk bottles. Nicky's brother, Scott, was good at that and was giving away the prizes he'd won."

Honey and Trixie listened to Dr. Ferris for a few more minutes before he raised his eyes to the clock. "Mrs. Ferris will be having supper on the table for me, girls. I think it's time you called it a day. I don't have anything else to add to the story."

Trixie nodded, realizing she'd pushed the older man as far as she could.

**Meanwhile, at Lytell's Grocery**

"Shotgun," Dan called as they descended the steps of Lytell's Grocery.

Jim smiled at the bi-polar vision of the curmudgeonly old man petting a small kitten. "Never thought I'd see the softer side of Frank Lytell," he said under his breath to his friends as they climbed into Mrs. Belden's minivan.

Mart smiled and climbed into the back seat without complaint. He was uneasy and aware of the tension still gripping the group. He and Di were staying at her parent's home allowing old grievances room to breathe.

"Miss Trask must have seen it," Brian pointed out.

Jim snorted. "Still can't quite reconcile the idea of Trytell," he said.

Dan laughed at the couple name. "Is it any weirder than Trolinson?"

Bob's blue eyes widened. "Ewwww! Gross, guys. Mind bleach, anyone? Thanks for ruining my childhood memories."

Jim nodded to the approaching grocer. "Brian, wait up, it looks like Mr. Lytell has something more to say."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," Mr. Lytell said, rushing towards the car. He handed a six pack of glass bottles to Dan through the window. "Give those to Trixie," he said with a grunt before hurrying away.

Dan held up the dusty six pack of strawberry pop.


	12. Chapter 12

**Back at Manor House, immediately following**

"So what do we do now?" Bob said, looking at the flow chart.

"Looks like we'll need to talk to Nick and Scott," Dan said, his fingers tracing the names on the board. "We've talked to everyone else on the list."

"Did Mr. Lytell have anything to add?" Trixie asked Jim after eagerly squealing with delight at her strawberry pop windfall. She popped the top on one bottle. "It may be stale but still delicious."

Brian shuddered with distaste. How could she still like that sugary sweet crap after all these years?

"No, he didn't have anything to add. Just mentioned something about some cats he'd been taken care of and a few of the kittens had disappeared or died."

"Dead cats?" Trixie said, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Honey's phone chirped and she pulled it out of her back pocket. "It's Dad again," she said to Jim.

Jim shrugged. "You told him we were here, didn't you?"

Honey nodded. "Of course, otherwise the alarm company would have had him rushing out here like a fiery bear."

"You may as well answer it," Brian said. "This is the third time he's called."

"Fifth," Honey corrected. She shook her head. "No, I'll call him tonight. After we talk to Nick and Scott." With a definitive swipe, she shut her phone off. "Ready, Trix?"

Trixie shook her head, slowly. "Let's read Molinson in on this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Roberts home, about an hour later**

They pulled into the driveway, and Trixie bit her lip. Had she called the police in too soon? But after being read in on the overwhelming evidence Trixie had collected, Molinson and his partner had insisted upon joining the interview of Nick and Scott Roberts.

Brian parked the car and the seven friends looked at each other with aching solemnity. Everything or nothing could change within the space of the next hour.

Had they made a huge mistake or were a series of cold cases about to be solved?

Trixie smiled up at Jim as he helped her out of the back of the minivan She had missed his sweet, old-fashioned gentlemanliness. It was a trait too often overlooked, ignored, and mocked.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She was still so unsettled with her confrontation with Mart but as Di had said, Bob-Whites were forever. Somehow, someway, she and Mart needed to get past this. She had abandoned the Bob-Whites and that was something with which she had to live.

Nick was in the yard, picking up the autumnal debris and raking it onto a bright blue tarp to pull deeper into the woods for composting. She slid her small hand in Jim's bigger one and they approached Nick to talk about the night Emma Ray was killed.

A large man, one both familiar and strange approached from Nick's left and Trixie felt the blood drain from her face.

"It's him," she whispered, struggling to stay focused. To breathe. Jim watched her with cobra-like intensity as her voice and breathing became thready.

"Trix?" he said, gripping her elbow to support her suddenly weak knees.

"Him," she gasped and the floodgate of her brain released its hold and memories cascaded into her with the force of running water. She stumbled against Jim, vaguely aware of Honey's quick intake of breath.

Nick and Scott Roberts the night of the County Fair.

Scott giving lollipops out to all the kids that came by Dr. Ferris' tent for any random boo-boo or bump.

The lollipop wrapper she remembered seeing at the scene and went to investigate that night.

Finding Nick there. Looking for clues. Looking to remove evidence.

Scott clobbering Jim on the head, causing his knees to buckle and bend with the awkward angle of a fallen monarch.

Attacking Scott, protecting Jim, protecting the truth. The force around her neck as she succumbed to the darkness. Going under but screaming for the truth of Emma Ray's untimely death. Screaming.

Blocking it all away in a truth too terrible to face.

Knowledge shown in Nick's eyes.

The truth was out.

"Run, Scott," Nick called to the larger man. "Go to our safe place."

Realization dawned in the other man's brown eyes. He turned and took off into the woods surrounding the property.

"I get it, man." The voice came from behind Trixie but was as achingly familiar as her own. "He's your younger brother." Mart's voice cracked with emotion and Trixie heard all his love and anguish pour out of him. "You'd do anything to protect him, but at some point you can't. You're forced to sit on the sidelines, watch him get hurt and you can't do anything else. It infuriates you, makes you say and do things you wish you hadn't."

Trixie gave Jim's hand a little squeeze before she let go to stand beside her older brother. They shared a brief look before Mart put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze of solidarity.

"You want to protect your siblings but at some point, the consequences of their actions have to fall on their shoulders and no one else's," Mart finished.

"Scott killed those kids," she said in a soft voice.

"He didn't mean to!" The words tore from Nick's throat and Trixie felt emotion tightening her chest. Her head remained clear and reality didn't zoom out like the lens of her father's Nikon.

"I know he didn't," Trixie said, crying now with the raw, unfiltered emotion of one damned by good intentions. "But you need to tell Molinson where you sent him. He'll see that Scott gets a fair shake."

"You don't understand," Nick said. "Don't you see? The county will go crazy when they realize they've been harboring a serial killer all these years."

"It's not like that, Nick. Not like he was evil wanting to hurt those kids."

"He'll be treated fairly," Molinson said with quiet authority. But what would happen to Nick was another question. Whereas Scott hadn't meant to hurt anyone, Nick's protection had its own consequences.

"He only wanted to play with them," Nick said, his shoulders sagging with defeat. "I knew it was wrong, but I only wanted to protect him."

Sensing the moment of tension had passed, Molinson approached Nick and began the process of booking him for his involvement in the murders of five children.

Scott, hiding in the bushes, bellowed with rage and charged the scene with the straight forward determination of a rhinoceros.

Officer Browning pulled his service weapon and prepared to fire to protect his partner.

Brian looked at Dan, nodded, and the two men acted as one. Dan swung into Officer Browning, removing the threat caused by the other policeman to either Scott or Brian. Brian intercepted a charging Scott and brought him down with an under arm hook.

"What the hell was that for?" Browning asked, pushing at the immovable object Dan had become.

"That was to keep you from discharging your weapon when it wasn't necessary." Dan's eyes blazed with a black coal fire and his voice was fierce with emotion. "For every gun that's fired, someone can't be in a closed room. In every bullet, a boy loses a father. A brother his friend." Browning nodded, grasping Dan's point, even if he didn't want to. "We had mere seconds to take Scott down, protect Molinson, and do it all without a bullet being fired. I regret not being able to stop time and alert you of the plan, but I had people to protect and a mentally disturbed kid to prevent causing any more harm." He raised an eyebrow at Browning. "Any questions?"

Scott began bellowing as Molinson cuffed him. Trixie was reminded of the heartbreaking scene from Dumbo where Dumbo's mother called and ached as her baby was taken away.

Finally, Molinson had called in for back up and someone to administer sedatives to both Scott and Nick.


	14. Epilogue

**Manor House, many, many hours later**

Honey dozed lightly in the warm cocoon of Brian's arms. She resisted falling asleep, rather going into a trancelike state. She was limp, drained of energy, but in an OMG good way.

How was she ever going to say goodbye to this man? She heaved a deep sigh, warm and content and drowsy.

"I'm proud of you, Honey," he said, brushing a butterfly soft kiss on her forehead.

Honey's feminist foremothers would have been aghast at how much pleasure she took from those simple words.

"You don't think I made it worse?"

"Cut yourself some slack, Honey. You stood up to your father. More than anyone else, I know how much that took for you. I'm proud of you."

She smiled, absorbing the gruff reprimand and his pride with equal pleasure. His dark voice tantalized her senses as though it were a caress of gentle fingers. She liked it when Brian got all growly and bossy.

Liked it too much.

"I can't believe it. We solved the case, Trixie is back in our lives, and I quit my job. What could possibly be next?"

"Well," Brian said, his voice echoing in his chest with a decadent rumble. "I believe I have some plans for your future – both immediate and long term."

Honey giggled. "If your future plans are anything like our immediate past plans, sign me up."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Brian said, pulling a small blue box from beneath the pillow. "Marry me, Honey Wheeler."

Honey stared at the exquisite ring in the box. "How did you?" she asked. "I mean, yes, of course. .God. Yes, Brian!"

Brian smiled with smug relief and slid the ring on her finger.

**Meanwhile, at Crabapple Farms**

Jim held Trixie with reverent care as they snuggled on the couch. "Tell me about this job interview," he invited. The fire Jim set popped and sparked in friendly invitation and the distant sound of Bob playing _Zombies take Manhattan_ in his room completed the ambiance.

"If I get it, I'll be working with my dad at the bank," Trixie said, sleepily burrowing into Jim's arms. "But some travel will be required to examine any possible questions on counterfeit bills in circulation.

"You'll be here, though? In Sleepyside?"

Trixie nodded, her fingers splayed against the soft worn cotton of Jim's T-shirt. Exhaustion beat at her as the tension that had driven her for more than a decade faded and resolved.

"Maybe you could come up to the farm for the weekend?" he asked. "We could go riding." Trixie grinned at his deep voice deep and suggestive suggestion.

Arraignments, lawyers, and sentencing were tomorrow's troubles – troubles she couldn't and wouldn't own and worry about. Her task was done. Emma Ray's spirit could rest easy and hopefully the Kettner's could find closure at the end of this long chapter.

a/n

What started out as a Halloween story finally finished up at Christmas.

Maybe next time, I should start a Christmas story and finish it up by Halloween.

I've had some ups and downs in writing this including losing pages of edits on two separate occasions. Lesson learned: In God we trust, all others back up multiple copies!

I self-edited so, naturally, any and all mistakes belong all to me, me, me.

Rachel Zoe is an American fashion stylist best known for working with celebrities, fashion houses, beauty firms, advertising agencies, and magazine editors.

Olcay Gülşen, also known as OJ Gulsen is a Dutch fashion designer. She is the owner of fashion label "SuperTrash".

Christian Louboutin is a French footwear designer whose footwear has incorporated shiny, red-lacquered soles that have become his signature.

A boilermaker is a mixed drink. In American terminology, the drink consists of a glass of beer mixed with a shot of whiskey.

Chit (definition) a short official note, memorandum, or voucher, typically recording a sum owed. As used in the US Navy, it's an official form asking for leave.

Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, 1st Marqués de Dalí de Pubol (May 11, 1904 – January 23, 1989), known as Salvador Dalí was a prominent Spanish Catalan surrealist painter born in Figueres, Spain. Dalí was best known for the striking and bizarre images in his surrealist work.

Interrogatories are a formal set of written questions propounded by one litigant and required to be answered by an adversary, in order to clarify matters of fact and help to determine in advance what facts will be presented at any trial in the case.

Rubbermaid is an American manufacturer and distributor of many household items. It is a subsidiary of Newell Rubbermaid. It is most well known for producing food storage containers and trash cans. Additionally, it produces sheds, step stools, closets and shelving, laundry baskets and other household items.

Skee ball (also spelled skeeball or skee-ball; sometimes called skee roll) is a common arcade game and one of the first redemption games. It is similar to bowling except it is played on an inclined lane with fist-sized balls and the player aims to get the ball to fall into a hole rather than knock down pins. The object of the game is to collect as many points as possible by rolling balls up an incline and into the designated point value holes.

Cornhole is a bean bag toss lawn game in which players take turns throwing bags of corn at a raised platform with a hole in the far end. A bag in the hole scores 3 points, while one on the platform scores 1 point. Play continues until a team or player reaches the score of 21.

D. Kim Rossmo is a Canadian criminologist specializing in geographic profiling. He joined the Vancouver Police Department as a civilian employee in 1978 and became a sworn officer in 1980. In 1987 he received a Master's degree in criminology from Simon Fraser University and in 1995 became the first police officer in Canada to obtain a doctorate in criminology. His dissertation research resulted in a new criminal investigative methodology called geographic profiling, based on Rossmo's formula.


End file.
